Abby and Timmy Pt4: This Is The End, My Friend
by bob5691
Summary: Abby vs. Kitty.  The last concert.  Timmy's memories and secrets revealed.  Timmy meets his strange fate in Junction, and Abby tries to make sense of her emotions and move on  to, as we know, a happier fate .
1. Chapter 1

Years later, looking back on it all, Abby wondered if all that happened to Timmy and those around him could have been avoided...if she had handled it all differently. If she had said yes, gone to Los Angeles with him...or been more persuasive in her letters...or maybe promised him that she and Thomas would come to stay with him and Rudy if he agreed to give up his life in the spotlight as Timmy Valentine, he already had plenty of money, with vampire hunters on his trail it was time to just disappear...or if...

Owen was more sensible about the whole thing. Probably because he had never met Timmy, had never been emotionally invested in a friendship with him. After she told him the whole story, he kept pointing out the obvious to her. "_You_ would have been dead too, in Los Angeles or in Florida or in Junction, and I never would have met you" he pointed out. "And he started running around in public like that a long time before he met you. He was already doing what he wanted to do, and he wasn't going to listen to anybody telling him to stop. Let's face it, the kid pinned a target on his chest." Hearing Owen earnestly refer to the 1,900-year-old Timmy as 'the kid' was enough to bring a smile back to her face, every time she got moody thinking about it all. Which was less and less, actually, as time went on; she _was_ happy, after all, and Timmy had made his own choices. Yet, years later, in her memories, she could still clearly see the dressing room at the concert, and Timmy and Kitty standing there...

.."OK, OK" Timmy replied to the knocking on the door. Then to the two of them, "Look, maybe you can talk and get acquainted. Listen to the concert if you like. Well, maybe you will, Abby; Kitty's already heard it more than once. You could listen backstage or head out into the arena if you like."

"Uh - sure. What do you think, Kitty?"

"Let's go out and mingle, sweetie. I do love meeting people."

"Kitty!" Timmy interjected. "Best behavior, remember? Do _not_ try anything at the concert. Low profile, right?"

"Sure, Timmy!" she agreed sweetly. But Abby thought again there was subtle, condescending tone in her voice.

Then Timmy hugged Abby, and she felt oddly warmed by it, reassured of his friendship. Kitty sniffed as Timmy walked out without making any physical contact with her.

"Well, girlie, let's go." Kitty said, and headed out herself. Lacking any other clear option, Abby followed behind. _Well, maybe people will just think we're a pair of sisters_.

They made their way out to the floor and mingled among the people for a while, listening to the opening sets as Timmy worked through his older material, and Abby felt as if she was swimming once again in an ocean of scents, the multitude of smells from the people around her mingling. Her senses hadn't been overwhelmed in this way since her nights with Timmy in Indianapolis and Chicago, months before. She saw Kitty inhaling deeply and licking her lips more than once. _Trouble_, she thought.

And sure enough, it was. Abby eventually lost herself in the stunning array of sensory impressions; Timmy's clear soprano, the rhythymic music, the guitars and drums and backup singers, the sweat and blood and hormones of the crowd. Suddently she found that she had lost sight of Kitty. Looking rapidly around her, Abby soon spotted her winding through the crowd, with a young man in tow - he appeared to be in his late teens too, no more than twenty, and oddly out of place in an audience of mostly middle and high-school girls. Maybe he had come to chaperone a younger sister, or with a date he was now ignoring or fighting with. She quickly followed, but kept back slightly. As they made their way into the hallways outside the main arena, Kitty and the young man leaned their heads towards each other, laughing softly. She closed the gap more rapidly as they broke out of the crowd and into the hallways outside the main floor, heading toward the wide staircases leading up. Abby could see she was leading him back and up toward emptier spaces, everyone crowded into their seats or the floor, listening to the songs.

"Hey, Sis! Wait up!" she called.

Kitty turned with an irritated look. "Don't tag along, little sister. I want to get to know this nice chap better." The man looked curiously at Abby, then apparently fell for their ruse. "Look, kid, Kitty and I are going to discuss some adult stuff, okay? No offense, just go and listen to Timmy. I'll bring her back safe and sound." he smiled.

_It's not her I'm worried about, you idiot_. Abby thought. They were still ascending, and were soon at the even more deserted highest level. The man glanced back at Abby again. He turned to face Kitty. "Hey Kitty, look, I..."

"Hush," she said, and slapped her right hand over his mouth, then grabbed his right arm with her left, pushing him back against the wall. "I'd like to give you a kiss." Abby saw his eyes open wider in surprise, then watched his expression turn to anger. But it quickly changed to surprise again when he tried to twist away, and grabbed her right arm in an effort to pull her hand away from his mouth. He was obviously discovering just how strong she was; he couldn't budge her.

Then Kitty opened her mouth, and his expression turned to terror. Her teeth were extending, sharp, with serrated edges, and Abby saw her eyes had a wolfish cast to them now. The man's struggles became more desperate, his eyes wilder.

"Oh now, dear boy, what's the matter?" Kitty's voice was almost a hiss. "I thought you wanted to be closer to me, to kiss me..." She leaned in and ran her tongue over his lips and onto the side of his neck. Now there was a muffled but clearly desperate whimpering noise coming from his mouth, Kitty's iron grasp still covering his mouth.

Abby heard a voice say "Stop it, Kitty." She realized it was her own.

"Oh sweetie," Kitty said, turning to face her. "Don't you want some too? I'm sure this red-blooded fellow has enough for both of us."

And Abby felt a sudden and surprising surge of rage inside her, rage at Kitty's sadistic taunts and obvious delight in the young man's fear. It ws unnecessary, it was cruel, it was...monstrous.

"Stop it, you _bitch_" she said, louder this time, and realized her own fangs and claws and night-predator eyes were showing themselves.

"You really are just as sentimental and foolish as Timmy, aren't you?" Kitty sneered, and then found herself on her back, the man torn from her grasp, as Abby slammed into her midsection with her full weight and strength. Kitty slid backwards on the floor.

"_Little bitch!_" she howled as she jumped up. Abby moved between her and the stunned young man, who was just getting to his feet. "Run!" Abby said to him. But he seemed immobilized, gaping first at her and then at Kitty. "Run or she'll kill you!" Abby hissed. "Thank you...thank you!" he sputtered, and did just that. But Kitty had launched herself right back at Abby, and easily knocked her down. Abby realized that Kitty was both physically bigger and stronger than she was, because she had been nearly a full-grown woman when she was turned. Kitty tried to rush after the man, but Abby grabbed an ankle just in time and sent her crashing to the floor.

Then Abby herself was back on her feet and heading towards a door that she suspected led into an emergency stairwell. It did; when the door banged open she found herself on a small landing, the stairs before her. As she had hoped, in her anger Kitty had stopped chasing her prey and was instead coming after her, and she thought she could lead her down and outside. The last thing Timmy needed was some kind of disturbance right in the middle of his concert. She dashed quickly down the stairs. But there was a central opening in the middle of the stairs as they wound downwards, more than big enough for a person, and suddenly Kitty was there in mid-air next to her; she had leaped into the gap and simply let herself drop down until she had caught up to Abby.

Kitty seized the handrail to stop her fall and flipped over it, knocking Abby into the wall and then trying to slash at her with her claws. Abby pulled back and then kicked Kitty in the stomach as she closed in on her. As Abby leaped down to the next landing, she felt a hard impact on her back and then sudden pain shooting through her side as Kitty raked her with her claws, cutting through her clothes and deeply into her sides.

And then...the door to the landing banged open, and Rudy Lydick stood there. In one hand he had a gun. "Stop, Kitty!" he yelled at her. Kitty pulled back, snarling; then suddently burst out laughing. "What are you going to do with _that_, Rudy? Shoot me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he replied. "This is loaded with silver bullets. I don't expect it to actually kill you, but you will be in extreme pain and feeling very weak for quite a while. Are you all right, Miss Abby?" he called out to her. Abby was just getting off the floor, and gently examining the wounds on her side; a thin trickle of blood oozed out, but that was all. "I'll be okay," she replied. "Still hurts, though."

"All right," Rudy answered. "Now, let's all calmly head back down and go backstage, where we can discuss this like civilized people." Kitty stood considering this for a few seconds, then visibly relaxed. "All right. I know Timmy has his rules. Sorry! I just got carried away a little."

Rudy merely frowned at this, and waited for them to start down the stairs again, then followed. And as they walked, even as she winced at the unfamiliar sensation of pain filling her side, another thought occured to her: _I saved somebody's life tonight. Didn't I? Saved a life_. She turned this idea over in her mind, and found it brought her pleasure, even as she realized it could never cancel out all the blood across all the decades.

A few minutes later they were in Timmy's dressing room; he would be coming back in a few minutes for a break and costume change, to put on his Little Dracula outfit and cape. "Did you know, Abby," said Kitty, 'that I think Timmy is the oldest of us all? Anywhere? I think he could be invincible, because the things that hurt the rest of us - the sunlight, the crosses, the silver - they don't affect him anymore. But there is one thing that makes him weak! This.._compassion_ that he feels! He thinks he can be friends with humans! _Friends!_" Here she glared at Rudy, who stood there impassively. Kitty went on. "You make him weak too, little girl, with your feelings and your wishing to be human again. Oh yes, he talked to me about you! But we are predators, and they are our prey. Is the lion friends with the zebra?"

_You monster_, Abby thought, remembering the sadistic glee on Kitty's face as she taunted the young man she had trapped and expected to kill. _You monster. I will never be like you. I will walk into the midday sun, before I let myself become like you_.

Then Timmy was walking through the dressing room door. He looked around and took in the scene. "Are you alright, Abby?" was the first thing he said.

"I..yes. I'll be fine." And she would be, she knew; by tomorrow night the gashes in her side (which had barely leaked any blood; her body retained it well) would only be pale scars cutting across her skin; by the next night, they would be gone. Even as she sat there, the initial pain was gone, to be replaced by a tingling sensation as her body set to work stitching itself back together.

"Good." Then Timmy turned towards Kitty. "Damn it, Kitty! What were you thinking? _Were _you thinking? You don't hurt a friend of mine and start a fight during my concert!"

"She was trying to hunt, Timmy," Abby interjected. "She was luring a young man away from the crowd, then taunting him, toying with him..."

"A girl's got to eat," Kitty sniffed in reply.

"Kitty. Rudy is going to watch you the rest of the concert. Abby, let me give you a new shirt." Timmy was already stripped down to his underwear, doing a quick costume change, and he tossed the black shirt he had been wearing to Abby. Abby paused, then remembered the sight of Timmy standing naked in his hotel room, just a few feet from her, all those months before. _No sense being shy. I've already seen all of him_. She pulled off the tattered shirt, briefly exposing her bare chest and the breasts that were no more than bumps on her chest. Rudy discreetly looked away; Timmy glanced at her for perhaps a second or so before continuing to pull on his outfit; Kitty sniffed, and puffed up her own fully developed chest, as if that was supposed to either impress or intimidate her. Abby buttoned up the shirt and was done. "Now what about me?" she said as she turned back to Timmy.

"You can listen to the rest of the concert from the VIP area in front," he replied. "I'll get you in there."

And he did. She managed to enjoy it too. He finally came to his newer material, including _Vampire Junction _and _Come Into My Coffin_.

_I'm scared to sleep alone_

_It chills me to the bone_

_The coffin's big, I'm just a kid, _

_Too young to sleep alone_

_Come into my coffin_

_Don't want to sleep alone_

The crowd roared approval as the vampire boy sang about the loneliness of being a vampire, and Abby thought once again of the game _Bloodsucker_ in the arcade, with the hunters and their never-ending pursuit of the miniature Timmy on the screen. Once the final set and the final bows were done, she quickly headed backstage. Rudy and Kitty were gone from the dressing room and she took the opportunity to talk with Timmy.

"Timmy. She's worse than you said. She really is a monster."

"I know. But what am I supposed to do with her?"

"She puts you in danger! Send her away!" Abby exclaimed fiercely.

"Well, I..I can't. I'm responsible for her, really."

"_Why_? She'd been on her own for 60 years before you found her again in New York, you told me! Let her take care of herself."

"I'm the one who made her a vampire."

Abby was stunned into silence for several seconds. "What?" she finally managed to ask.

Timmy sighed. "It was in Cambridge, in England, right after World War One. I used to go by the college in the evening, listen to a boy's choir that practiced there. I've been in a few boy's choirs myself, you know. One evening another group came to the theater hall, long after the choir had left, and I had just been wandering around thinking, keeping to the shadows. They were college students mostly, several boys and a girl, and they had somehow coerced or intimidated one of the choir boys into accompanying them. They were some kind of occult group, and they were performing some silly ritual, but the boy who was their leader had brought a girl who was a little younger there. Kitty. He was a psychopath, sadistic, and they had tied her to a table, and he had a knife...he said it was time to call forth the dark powers, and he stabbed her. Over and over. He meant to actually sacrifice her, kill her. And the smell of all the blood just overcame me, I jumped among them, knocked him down, and I looked pretty fierce, I think...they ran screaming, but the girl was already bleeding to death, I could tell she wasn't going to make it...so I drank her blood. I was hungry. And while I was drinking, I saw the choir boy watching me. All the others had run away, but he was watching, and when he saw me looking back he jumped up to run. 'Wait!' I said. 'I won't hurt you!' But he ran, and then I felt sure he would bring someone back, and I panicked and ran too. And left Kitty there, not dead, and she turned. So it was an accident, I was careless, I made her what she is, and now I'm...well..I have to be the one responsible for her."

"So that's why you asked her to come to Los Angeles, when you met her in New York again, after all these years..." Abbys' voice trailed off.

"Part of it. I _did_ need a friend. I _did_ ask _you_ to come with me, before I even met her," Timmy replied. There was hint of pre-adolescent petulance in his voice, a slight whining tone, and Abby thought she could instantly see what he meant. _You could have been the one with me, not her, Abby_. _I asked you_.

"Timmy, don't you dare try to blame..."

"No," he quickly said, "you're right. I'm sorry, that wasn't fair. But maybe it's for the best that she's with me. That way I can rein in some of her excesses."

They talked a little while longer, and Abby warned him to be very careful, if one hunter had already come after him there would be more, and Timmy told her to not to worry. "This tour ends in Florida in just a few days. Then my next album, _Funhouse_, comes out, and I do one more tour. That's it, Abby, then I'm done. And we can see each other again, when the _Funhouse_ tour comes to the Midwest." They hugged again, and Abby realized how much she was coming to like this physical contact, it seemed so long since she and Thomas had shared something like it, they hardly touched anymore...Timmy led her to find Rudy, so she could relax and ride home, rather than return on her own after the fight and her injury. As the limo pulled away, she turned to look back out the window at him, and he waved, and she never saw Timmy again.

Rudy drove her almost all the way home again, and told her some more about what had happened in the last few months - Timmy's memory therapy, the attack on the mansion, the tour. When he finally stopped to let her out, she thanked him and gave him a quick hug for the first time. "Thanks Rudy. She was bigger and stronger than me. If you hadn't shown up when you did, she might really have hurt me."

"I had been watching from a distance. I knew she was up to something foolish and risky. The only trick was getting through the crowd and out into the open so I could follow you. When I heard the shouts and fighting on the levels above me, I headed for the stairwell hoping I could come up and stop Kitty."

"She's horrible."

"Yes. And I've told Master Timmy that, and he agrees, and yet..." He shrugged.

"I know. He feels responsible, because he's the one who turned her. I...I'm sorry I couldn't go with him when he asked, Rudy. Maybe I really could have prevented some of this from happening."

"Very kind of you to say so. But I think Timmy is old enough to take responsibility for his own actions." Rudy smiled at his own little joke, and Abby found herself smiling too, and a fresh surge of optimism spread through her that Timmy might yet get away with it all.

At home Thomas frowned angrily as he examined her injuries, and said "I don't want you to see him again. At all! Look what's happened now, and the danger you're in just by being near him, now that hunters are after him."

"He says he's done after this last album and one more tour. Then it's over."

"What I see is that he keeps pushing his luck, and I think it'll run out before _he_ thinks it will."

She didn't want to agree, yet it was hard to argue with what Thomas said, and Abby fell silent herself.

When she first saw the news three nights later, Abby felt sick. She sank down in front of the old television, listening numbly to the newscasters. Thomas stood beside her.

"At least six confirmed dead, and dozens more with injuries, some serious, following the equipment explosion," she heard. "Tour representatives explained that it was a malfunction of laser equipment for the light show and special effects during the concert, although investigators questioned whether an equipment malfunction could have produced an explosion of that magnitude. There has been no comment from Timmy Valentine or his representatives at this point." _So he's alive_, she thought, _but that was no 'equipment problem.' They came after him again. Right there at the concert, with all those people! But they must have figured it was the one place where they could be certain he was there_.

Thomas started to speak up. "Well, I have to say, I..."

"DON'T!" she screamed at him, and he took a step back, in shock, and Abby was surprised herself, at the sudden intensity of her anger. "Don't you dare GLOAT! He could have been k_illed_, and all those people _were_ killed, and you're going to say 'I told you so'? DAMN IT!"

Thomas remained speechless, and then she collapsed to the floor, the burst of energy draining from her like air from a punctured balloon, and she sat cross-legged with her head in her hands. After a few seconds, Thomas turned and left, and they did not speak again that evening.

The next night, it seemed they both wanted to reconcile. Thomas took the initiative once she was awake. "Abby...about last night. I'm sorry I offended you, I never meant to sound like I was gloating..."

"Thomas...it's okay, really. Let's forget about it. I don't like to argue with you. It's just that...he's my friend. And I'm afraid I'll lose him, and it shouldn't have to happen."

"All I want is to look out for you. Keep you from getting hurt. The way to do that is to keep quiet, fly under the radar, don't take unnecessary risks. It's worked for us. It worked for you, all those years, before we ever met."

"I know. And that's how Timmy had lived, too. He's told me about it. But he has this plan to get rich...well, I guess he is rich, now...and then he thinks he can do whatever he wants, once he's done being the superstar, and leaves this life behind. But I _have_ tried to warn him, that it's getting more dagerous for him."

The news featured updates and a woman talking to reporters outside Timmy's L.A. mansion. She was middle-aged, slightly taller than average, with long and curly dark hair. The subtitles on the screen identified her as _Dr. Carla Rubens, Timmy Valentine's Therapist_.

"...Just a kid, and of course he's traumatized by what happened," she was saying. "He's canceled all his public appearances for now, and the next tour has been postponed indefinitely. He needs time to get over this." The newscast went on. Timmy's record label and the tour promoters were apparently throwing money at the injured and the families of those killed, hoping to forestall lawsuits and inquiries. _Oh Timmy_, she thought. _Please write again. Tell me what happened, tell me you're really done now, tell me you have a plan to take your money and disappear. Even if I can't write or see you again...I don't want my friend to die_.

The letter came over a week later:

_...of course, what you heard on the news was just a cover story. Some equipment did explode, but it was because of the attack. The man from Los Angeles was back again, his name is Zottoli, still seeking revenge for his niece. He wanted to kill me, of course, but he got Kitty instead. She is gone, truly dead, and I'm alone again. What was he thinking, really? He was going to murder a child on stage, in front of thousands of witnesses? But there were others, too, and they took me by surprise. Old, much older now, but I recognized them all the same. The students from Cambridge, all those years ago, and the choirboy - he must be 70 now, they must be close to 80 years old! They somehow got through backstage, to attack me. They had a weapon...I was scared, and I haven't felt fear in such a long time, I hardly recognized it. I know they will all come after me again. Soon I will go to Junction, to my vacation home. Then we shall see how this is meant to end. Abby, I am glad you chose not to come with me, I know now it was the right thing for you to do. I am so afraid that you would be dead now._

His words seemed - what was it? - _fatalistic_ to her, as if he expected worse to come and was resigned to it. _Is there really a plan, Timmy? Was there ever? How did you really think this was all going to end?_ And a new thought came to her, a memory of what he had said to her the first night they had met, when she asked how he was able to survive the daylight. _I was waiting for the sun on purpose...that I remember_. That had been centuries ago, in France, from what he told her. But at that time and place, he had wanted to die, and found that he could not, at least not from the Sun. _Oh Timmy. Oh no. Do you want to die? Are you just letting them come after you? Is that why you let the hunter go in Los Angeles, the first time he attacked? You've decided again that you can't go on, and this is how you're going to end it?_

She wrote to him, but she could not bear to ask the suspicion that had formed in her. She was afraid of how he might answer.

_Timmy - we both know they will keep coming after you. Maybe even your vacation home isn't safe, they will find out about it somehow. You could come here and hide out until you decide what to do_. She could imagine what Thomas would have to say about that! _With all your money, you can do just like you told me - go anywhere, do whatever you want. Change your name now. Go now. Leave this latest life behind_.

More weeks passed, and now it was late Autumn, and she heard nothing more, but package did come; a copy of Funhouse, the album cover authographed by Timmy. She played it night after night, listening to his voice, wondering is he would ever see her friend again. Finally another letter arrived.

_Abby. I am in Junction now, and this will end here. I think Carla has a bigger part to play in this, now. And one of the hunters in Florida - the one who had been a choirboy all those years ago - he is her ex-husband. He became a conductor. He saw me on TV, and recognized me, because he was at the Opera in Thauberg when I was there. My career in the German opera did not end well, and everyone there thought that I had died. Then he saw me on TV, in an interview, and recognized me as the boy from all those years before. Carla says he actually called her up, and when he mentioned me, almost hysterical about what he had seen, she let slip that I had just signed up to be her patient, and he begged her not to see me, told her I was a monster of some kind. Which of course just made her more curious about seeing me. I do not believe all this can be mere coincidence - these Jungian analysts call it synchronicity, people and things coming together through the workings of the collective unconscious, that vast sea of images and archetypes and precognitions shared by the human race. What seems like chance is ordained by our unconscious minds, joining together. Of course we called this fate or destiny in times past._

_I remember France now. All of it. I do not want to share it all with you, the horror of what I saw and experienced, but I must tell you enough so that you understand. It was 1440, and the man in the castle was Gilles de Rais, who was called Bluebeard by some. He had fought with Joan of Arc against the English. I encountered him three times, and was changed, and became what I am now. The first time I walked out of that forest in the late evening and towards the castle, and then there were hoofbeats, and ropes. I should have been able to break them easily, but they were coated with wolfsbane, and it felt as if it burned my hands. The leader laughed, and said their lord would enjoy some unexpected entertainment that night. _

_They took me up to his banquet hall, and there was silver everywhere - platters and serving trays and utensils - and it weakened me more. They tied me down to a table, and pulled off my clothes. And there I met him. He wore a gold cross, and when he leaned over me it touched my chest, and it felt like it burned. I cried out and flinched away, and he said 'interesting', and took it off. The he cut me open, the knife ripping through my belly. Then he raped me. I was certain I would die, the final death, I was so weak and had lost so much blood. But once he was finished, and satisfied, his servants carried me out of that room even as I felt my unlife draining away, and buried me near the castle. Already I was feeling better, away from the silver and cross and wolfsbane. For days I lay there in the ground, as my body stitched itself back together, and when I was recovered I dug myself out in the night and I swore revenge. I would make him suffer as I had suffered all those centuries, I would turn him into what I was. I fed on a guard who was patrolling outside, because I was ravenous after my body healed itself, and then I flew up to his tower, his rooms, to do what I intended._

_And he welcomed me, when he saw what I was. Begged me to make him what I was. He said I was a dark angel from hell, come to reward him for his evil by making him a prince of hell, and when I denied this he asked me to accompany him to his dungeons and he would prove that he was evil enough to be worthy of such an 'honor.' And I went with him, and saw the children there...Abby, I will not describe it to you. But I fled that place, I told him he was a madman and monster worse than I was, and if I did what I had originally planned he would become a monster ten times worse. And I fled back into the forest, far from that place of madness, but I could find no peace for myself, and I realized that I had to confront him again._

_When I finally went back I found that he had been arrested by the church and charged with blasphemy and heresy, which carried the death penalty in that time and place. It was a simple matter to get into the prison and go to his cell at night, and I sat there beside his cell, and we talked. He thought I had come back to give him his reward, and I finally understood him. He was obsessed with Joan, and said that she was the last of the great and good, and there was nothing left for him but to be some great embodiment of evil. He was nothing but a pitiful man filled with delusions. I told him as much, that he had no reward from me, that hell was not in awe of him, that his vision of great evil was nothing but a mask for his cruelty and lust, to make it seem something other than what it was. And he wept, and said I had stripped all that he had believed away from him, and I actually felt pity for him. From the seedling of pity grows the tree of compassion, and I learned (or perhaps remembered), in that place, how to feel human emotion again. And I saw in him the mirror image of myself. He was a man who had wanted to become a monster, and I was a monster who wanted to be human again. And I had killed children too, hadn't I, across those long centuries? Not as he had, with sadism and lust, but still, what had I done? _

_They were going to burn him at sunrise the next day. And I saw with these new (or reawakened) feelings what I had been all those centuries, without remorse or pity, and I saw what the future would be for me, now that I could feel again, but still have to kill to live. And that is why I waited for the Sun; I was too afraid to go on, and wanted to die rather than face endless years of regret._

_But I discovered the Sun could no longer hurt me, and decided that perhpas fate was not done with me yet, and I had to go on no matter what I felt. I have a theory about this. You and I, we think that because our bodies do not grow or age that we do not change. But I think we do. Our powers grow and change, but we do not necessarily realize it unless our minds and feelings change too. The Sun, the crosses, the other things - they really do hurt us, at first. But over centuries we become resistant, and the pain that we feel from them is - as Carla would say - 'psychosomatic.' It is a product of our own minds, our own fears, and when we free ourselves from our illusions these things lose their power over us. Even the Sun. Perhaps it really does take a thousand years, or more, for us to evolve physically to this point. And we must make a mental leap as well, as I did in that awful place in France, before we can realize our new immunity to those things. Now I must regain what happened to me in Pompeii, and then I will be whole again. Of course in one sense I know what happened; I was castrated and turned into a vampire. But I must remember it, and then I will be healed, and ready for whatever fate awaits me. I will tell you all I can before that happens._

She spent hours thinking it all over, the things he had written, the terrible things that had happened to him. She did not even know if her letters would reach him now, would somehow get forwarded to Junction, if she sould write back. But she had to try.

_Dear Timmy:_

_I am so sorry about all that happened to you, and wish I could be there, to do or say something to comfort you. Perhaps you were lucky to lose your human feelings all those years, because then you had the strength to go on, and if you had died I would never have had you as a friend. And perhaps this is selfish of me, but don't give in now. I need a friend too, and I am glad you are there. Please don't wait for them to come after you, just go now. And hide. And I will always be here, if you need me._ But was that true, she wondered, even as she wrote it? Maybe they wouldn't be able to stay in Indiana much longer, with all that was going on. But if they had to leave, how would Timmy ever find her again? It was coming to an end, she felt it, for Timmy and for her, and she found herself afraid for both of them.

(Everything - and I mean everything - will be resolved in Chapter 2 of this installment. Really!)


	2. Chapter 2

She read the next letter several times, trying to absorb it all, understand it fully. But it was hard, because she knew it meant that she would never see him again.

_Dear Abby -_

_I remember Pompeii now. The last piece is in place, and my memory is whole again, and so am I, because now I understand what must happen here. So let me tell you. The Persian, the vampire who had come to visit the Sybil, and seemed an old (very old) friend of hers, told her that he had learned some magic in the East that could make them both mortal again, but he needed me for it. He told her we had to go to his townhouse in Pompeii. She had foreseen that Pompeii would be destroyed, and he expected that too, and said it was part of his plan. They had both grown so weary of their long, long lives, and wished to die. I can see that now. _

_When the eruption started he had his adult servants hold me down on a table, and pulled up my robe. He told me he was going to give me a great gift, make me immortal, trade his own immortality for my mortality, and I would see centuries of wonder. 'But the magic', he said, 'requires the testicles of a virgin boy.' _

_Then he cut my balls off. I didn't see what he did with them; I was too busy screaming, from a pain unlike anything I could ever have imagined, and I looked up only at the ceiling. Then he was saying something to the servants, and grasped my wrists, and they released me and ran. He bent over me and bit my neck, and I felt my blood spurt out, and as he drank deeply from me I gradually felt the Change begin, even through my pain. Then a beam fell from the ceiling as the earth shook, and hit him in the back; he twisted to the side and fell to the floor. I found myself rolling off the table, and – I don't truly know how I did this, with so much pain and so much blood lost – I ran out onto the street before he could free himself. And there I fell, bleeding and dying, as I transformed._

_Now for what I have realized. I believe the Hindus and Buddhists have it right - our souls can come back. Carla was the Sybil, all those centuries again; Stephen was the Persian. Time and fate - synchronicity - have brought us together again, and we will finish what we started two thousand years ago. One of two things will happen: I will die, or I will find a way to transcend this world, to escape it. Carla has a role to play in this, and her ex-husband Stephen, and the people of Junction too. This is unfortunate for them, and I know it does not sound compassionate. But if I am right, I will be gone from this world one way or another, and there will be no more blood spilled by me. We three are bound together, psychically, and who knows what we might become together? I am going to make Carla a vampire, and then we will wait for Stephen and his friends._

_I have been in this world too long. Five centuries of regret and loneliness, since those days in France, are enough. I hope you find what you are looking for._

When the news came, then, just a day after the letter, it was no surprise. Not really. They hadn't made the Timmy Valentine connection just yet, and so it was another disaster story. Thomas brought her the newspaper when she awoke that evening, and said simply, "I'm sorry, Abby," and left her. It was front-page news, but not a very long article; there had simply not been time yet, it seemed, to gather more information:

_Idaho Town Engulfed by Inferno_

_The small town of Junction has been completely destroyed by a massive blaze, according to search helicopter crews and rescue teams moving into the area. The fire was first observed late yesterday evening and burned fiercely through the night, according to observers. Rescue operations have been hampered by heavy snows on the few roads leading to town, but helicopter teams have confirmed that almost every structure in town seems to have burned. The town population is about 300 persons, but no survivors had been spotted as of early this morning._

_It's over. Oh Timmy, why did you let this happen? My friend is gone_. She sat despondent most of the evening, refusing to engage Thomas in conversation; soon he went out. He had not returned by the time the local news came on late that evening, and now the celebrity angle was there, guaranteed to move a story to the front of the program.

"Child superstar Timmy Valentine is missing and feared dead in the massive blaze that engulfed the small mountain town of Junction, Idaho, last night," the announcer intoned. "Members of the young celebrity's entourage confirmed that he was in residence at a recently purchased vacation home there at the time of the blaze." Aerial shots of a charred landscape of burned-out buildings. Then a shot of a larger home, a mansion really, atop a rise. The upper floors had apparently collapsed into the lower; there were still small blazes burning in the wreckage, columns of dark smoke rising. "Valentine had been in seclusion since a tragic accident at the end of his last tour stop in Florida left several dead, and has made no public appearances since that time. Our sources now confirm that his therapist, New York psychoanalyst Carla Rubens, was with him in Junction at the time of the blaze." No mention of Rudy – perhaps he had not been there. "The search for survivors continued through the day, but none were found. A number of bodies have already been recovered, including several at the site of the Valentine mansion."

Abby simply tuned it out at that point. She headed outside, onto the front porch, and stood gazing up at the dark night sky. And the darkness that for so long had seemed her only true friend – the only one that lasted, anyway - wrapped itself around her. _Dead. Burned up. It didn't have to be this way. And now I have no friend, again_.

Thomas returned early in the morning, well before sunrise, and presented her with a jug of red fluid. She drank slowly – it seemed she had lost her appetite; was that possible? But it really felt that way – and finally set it aside, half-finished. "I'm going for a walk" was all she said to him, and she headed out across the fields, no destination in mind, her thoughts spinning. _I can't have a friend, can I? Not ever. Someone will catch up and kill them in the end, if they're…like me. Or they'll simply run away, when they find out what I am, if they're human. Why did I think I could have friends, not be so lonely? Timmy thought he could be friends with humans, too, and look what happened to him_. She wandered aimlessly for hours, only turning back towards home with her awareness of the distant sun creeping closer far over the edge of the Eastern horizon. Then, she pulled out the picture Timmy had sent her all those months ago from the drawer where she stashed it – the one with Timmy in his oh-so-cute little Dracula cape, sitting on the edge of a fake coffin, fake plastic vampire fangs protruding from the corners of his mouth. She found she couldn't bear to look at it, not now, not after all Timmy's little look-at-me-I'm-a-vampire stunts and gimmicks and promotional tie-ins had led to this. Not now. She put it away again, turned upside down; she didn't want to see it at all.

She didn't care to read or watch the news very much the next night, or the night after, for more than a few minutes. She only skimmed the newspaper stories. It was no surprise at all that investigators were calling the blaze deliberate; apparently many of the homes and businesses in Junction had propane tanks for winter heating, and many of these had, it seemed, been deliberately detonated – sending fireballs sweeping through buildings and nearly razing the whole town. Another fact intruded more on her morose thoughts, though. "Timmy Valentine's body has not been found, although he has not been seen since the fire, and two members of his staff – his chauffeur and bodyguard, Rudy Lydick, and his housekeeper – confirm he was in residence there." _No body. Is it possible? Are they mistaken?_ She allowed herself a flicker of hope. Then she thought _Rudy, where were you when he needed you? Why weren't you there? What happened?_

Finally, she was able to talk about it briefly with Thomas. It was early in the evening, three nights after she first learned of the events in Junction. Thomas took the initiative, hesitantly, clearly not wishing to antagonize her in any way.

"Abby…if you want to talk about it…"

"What's to talk about? He's dead. Ashes. Gone."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I know you liked writing to him, getting his letters, seeing him…I'm just sorry you lost that. Because I see it hurts you."

"You were always against me seeing him, staying in touch with him."

"Yes. I won't deny it. I just wanted to keep us anonymous and safe out here…Timmy was anything but anonymous, and it clearly wasn't safe. But I don't want to say anything against him. Because…well, again, I know he meant a lot to you. What hurts you, hurts me. Because I don't want to see you unhappy. I don't have anything more to say about it."

She paused, then said "Thank you," and walked over to him and hugged him. She pressed up against him, and he pressed back, and it felt good to have that contact. Both of them, it seemed, had fallen away from that, rarely touching, and now she realized how much she missed that. It still seemed awkward, because so much seemed to lie unspoken between them now, an estrangement she didn't know how to deal with. But for a few moments, at least, that fell away, and it almost seemed like old times again.

Several nights later, when she awakened, she heard voices in the kitchen. _Someone is here?_ When she walked into the room, there sat Rudy Lydick, sipping a cup of coffee, while opposite sat Thomas, his own cup untouched. He did not look happy. But Abby found her heart leap up, because Rudy had also come to seem more like a friend to her. "Rudy! I'm so glad you're safe!" Then she found herself looking around expectantly, and she knew why, and even though she knew it was irrational she hoped to see Timmy standing there too, whole and safe, smiling at her, telling her she had been right. The feeling quickly snuffed itself out; of course he wasn't there.

"Rudy," she said. "What happened to Timmy? What happened in Junction? Is he.." - she forced herself to ask it – " dead?"

"Dead? I don't know, Abby," he said, and she noted that the "Miss" was gone – he was slipping out of the polished chauffeur role he had played with Timmy. "But he is gone."

"What does that mean? Why would he be gone, unless he's dead? What happened? Were you there?" Her voice was rising now, insistent, and demanding, and Rudy spoke again.

"It was almost nightfall. Maria the housekeeper and I were there with Timmy. He had already bitten Carla, turned her into a vampire, and she had not yet awakened. The whole town was ablaze, it seemed, and they were coming up the hill. The hunters – the man from Los Angeles, Zottoli, and the English group that came in Florida, and there were some townspeople as well. They had all joined together, and they were coming to kill Timmy." Abby's mind suddenly flashed back to the _Bloodsucker _game – the ever-increasing number of Van Helsings that relentlessly pursued Timmy. But Rudy was going on. "I asked him if I should get the guns, and Timmy said 'No. Let them come. Do nothing to stop them.' 'Master Timmy!' I said. I was stunned. And then he spoke to Maria and I – he told us not to be sad, to weep for him. He said that he would either die, or transcend this world." _Just what he wrote to me_, Abby thought. "He thanked us, for loving him, for all we had done for him, and he told us to leave. He said a will was in the safe at the Superior Sound Systems office in Los Angeles. He said we should go, save ourselves, and he would see what fate had decided for him."

"And that's it? You just left him? When they were coming to kill him?" Abby heard her voice rising, the anger burning through. But Rudy Lydick was not a man easily intimidated by angry vampires, it seemed. He regarded her coolly and sipped his coffee, then continued.

"I always did what he asked, Abby. Sometimes I advised him to do something different from what he planned, but when he gave an order, I always did it. I disposed of the bodies, and I cleaned up the blood, and for more than 20 years I did all that he asked. He believed that when he and Carla and Stephen Miles, her ex-husband, who was one of the hunters, were all together again, then they would complete a psychic triad of sorts – animus, anima, nemesis, as the Jungians would call it – male, female, and enemy. And together, perhaps, they would become something new. Perhaps that sounds crazy, but he was many centuries old, you know that. Perhaps he had gained some insight into the psychic workings of the human mind, and this collective unconscious Carla talked about really did have the psychic power to do what he hoped." He paused, briefly. "Or perhaps he was just wrong, and he is truly dead now. I just don't know."

Rudy held up a large thick envelope that had been resting by his hand. "This is for you." He passed it to Abby, and she tore it open. Inside there was a wad of money, and a letter-size envelope, with her name on it. She looked at it a moment, but did not open it; she would not read it here, in front of the two of them. She knew it was Timmy's last words to here, and that would be something private, for later. She flipped through the stack of money and then passed it to Thomas, who did the same.

"Fifty twenties", he announced. "One thousand dollars." He looked at Rudy and raised an eyebrow.

"Timmy gave this to me when he told Maria and I to leave Junction," Rudy told them. "He must have prepared it that same day. About the money – he said you had never asked him for anything, Abby, and had given him friendship. When you become wealthy, and a celebrity, you suddenly find a lot of people who want to be your friend, and spend a lot of time hanging on to you, and find a lot of reasons to beg or borrow money. He liked it, that you never did that. So – this is strictly money 'under the table', as they say here in America. There is no record of it anywhere, nothing to trace back to you two or this address. Use it as you will."

"Well," Thomas said. "Alright then." He paused. "Thank you."

Rudy nodded at Thomas, then put down his coffee and stood up. "There _was_ a will in Los Angeles, and it provides very generously for myself, and for Maria, and – you may be interested to know – makes some very generous donations to several charities for abused and neglected children. At some point, Timmy will be declared legally dead. I do not think they will ever find a body if he was caught in the fire; I think he would have burned like a torch, to ashes, dust, and nothing more. But if he was right, and found another way to escape, I do not think he will ever be back." He headed towards the door, then turned to look at them once more before walking out. "It was a pleasure to know you, Abby. Good luck to you. Good luck to you both."

A few seconds after he had walked out, Abby leapt up and ran after him. He was approaching what had to a rental car, a white sedan, when he heard her stepping up behind him and turned.

"You said he thanked you for loving him," she said, looking him in the eye. "Did you tell him that you did?"

Rudy seemed taken aback, unsure how to respond. "Why – I – well, he didn't actually ask, he just said it, he - "

"Did he ever ask? Ever?"

"Well – actually, in all the time we were together – yes. Once. This last summer." He was clearly hesitant to speak of it. But she had to know, because she was suddenly sure what Timmy had really wanted, all along.

"And what did you say?" _God damn you, Rudy Lydick. If you let Timmy die without ever hearing that you loved him, I will rip your heart out. And eat it_.

Something of the fierceness she felt must have shown in her face, her eyes. Rudy looked away from her, then down at the ground. He sighed.

"It was when Kitty had started her rampages – she had attacked and killed a group of surfers in an isolated cove, one night. I had been following her, monitoring her activities, and I got Timmy and brought him in the limousine to see what she had done." Abby suddenly recalled that Timmy had told her about this same event, in one of his letters. "We were sitting in the car, and he was so very angry at Kitty – he said he wanted to put a stake through her heart himself, right then. Then he suddenly said 'Do you love me, Rudy?' And I was surprised – it was so unexpected. I looked up into the rear-view mirror, and he was looking at me – our eyes met. I didn't say anything – I wasn't sure what to say. Why was he asking, why then? And then he said it again – 'Do you love me?' And after a second, I said to him, 'What need do you have for love, Master Timmy? Are you becoming like them?' And he said 'That is what I am afraid of.' Nothing more." He finally met Abby's gaze again. "And then we talked about Kitty, what to do about her, and that was it. We headed back to the mansion. And he never asked again."

"Damn you." Her voice was a hiss. "Why couldn't you just say it to him? WHY?"

Now Rudy did seem a little intimidated, and stepped back from her. But he did reply.

"I was always grateful to him, Abby, and always loyal."

"Gratitude and loyalty are not love. Did you love him? Ever?"

She understood, now, what Timmy had really wanted by becoming a pop star. It wasn't the money - he had never had a big plan about what he and Rudy would do with it when he had to stop being Timmy Valentine the superstar. It wasn't that he had wanted to draw the hunters to him, that he wanted to die, either; she realized now that he simply did not care whether he died or not. In her mind she could see Timmy, as they had stood together atop the Sears Tower in Chicago, and she could hear his voice_. 'They love me, Abby, don't they?...they scream out my name, they write letters and tell me they love me.'_ And she could picture him with his fan letters, reading them over and over again, girls telling him how much they loved him, how they wanted to be with him. And that was it, wasn't it? Suddenly she realized something of what he must have felt at his concerts, the crowd chanting his name, fans calling out _'Timmy! Timmy! I love you!'_, and him drinking it all in. Just as he drank in blood to feed his body, he must have drunk in those voices to fill the loneliness and emptiness deep inside him, to push it back, to imagine that all those people did love him, that he was wanted, not feared and hated as a monster. And she imagined, too, that she could hear him in his limousine, leaning forward, his boy's voice high and vulnerable – _'Do you love me, Rudy?'_ – and the answer he had gotten – _'What need do you have for love, Master Timmy?_'

Rudy had still not answered her. Finally he said, "I gave him everything I could, Abby. Everything I had. Now my life is my own again. I will see what I can do with it. Goodbye, Abby."

The anger poured out of her like water down a drain, to be replaced by a profound sadness for Timmy. She watched Rudy get in the car and drive away, until the taillights had dwindled to nothing in the distance. _Oh Timmy. They finally killed the monster, didn't they? Except the monster was really just a lonely boy that wanted to hear someone say 'I love you', and mean it, before he died_. _And even the human closest to you couldn't just say it to you._

She turned and saw that Thomas had come out on the porch. How much had he heard, standing there? She knew, though, that she did not have the courage to ask him what Timmy had asked of Rudy. Once, decades before, she would have been certain of how he would have answered. Now? She was afraid, she knew. Afraid of what she might hear. She passed him without a word, going back inside, and headed to her room, and sat down to read Timmy's last letter.

_Dear Abby –_

_If you are reading this, I am gone. I am sorry I could not be the friend you wanted to have. Don't feel sad for me. Whatever has happened, I have escaped the remorse and loneliness the centuries have placed upon me. __You wrote to me that perhaps I was lucky that I had lost my human feelings, my humanity, for so long, because it gave me the strength to go on. But – I don't like saying this to you, but I have to – you are wrong. I was not lucky. For more than 500 years, since those nights and days in France, I have tried to regain what humanity I could, and it has not worked. With no name to hold on to, with no one I could be with more than a few years at a time, I have wandered in a sea of humanity and never been able to completely be a part of it._

_If I have died, then perhaps I can become human again. Perhaps the universe takes our souls and spins them out into the world again, and I will be reborn, and have another chance. Because I think we still have souls, you and I. How else could we feel so much, so strongly?_

_You have held on to your human feelings and to your real name, you never lost them, and because of that you are and always will be more human than I ever was, since that night in Pompeii. And I think you are lucky, and I envy you for that. I do not know if you will find what you are looking for, the kind of friend you want. But I think you have a chance. _

_Your friend, Timmy_

For a long time, she looked at the piece of paper, and read and re-read it. But she was still sick at heart, and thought, _How can I ever find what I want? Timmy tried it, and look what it got him. Friendship...love...someone like us can't have those things, not really. Timmy tried for so much longer than I have. He says I'm lucky I still have my human feelings. But I just feel hurt and lonely. What good do they do for me?_

She folded up the paper, and slipped it into a drawer, and it felt as if a door in her heart was closing. It had cracked open so long as she had known Timmy, and behind it was hope, hope that having Timmy as a friend, someone who cared for her because of what she was, meant that she could have even more. That she really could find someone who wanted her as a friend, who loved her, in _spite_ of what she was; who could see what kind of _person_ she truly was.

_Oh Abby. You silly girl. What a childish fantasy. Let it go_.

The door inside her closed, and she thought it was closed and locked now. Why let herself wish for something so impossible? Why imagine such dreams could come true?

But behind it, there was still hope, and the lock was still ready for a key.

AFTERWORD

Two novels about a castrated boy vampire, struggling with the conflict between his vampiric and human characteristics. Who would have thought it? However, S.P. Somtow's _Vampire Junction_ appeared in the early 80s, long before _Let the Right One In_. (Incidentally, it also appeared before a certain book called _The Vampire Lestat_ by a certain Anne Rice - making it, so far as I know, the first novel to feature a vampire as a rock star, as well). It's not light on the gore, and part of the reason Somtow had trouble finding a publisher (it took him several years, I understand) might have been the themes of abuse and pedophilia that appeared, in addition to the blood spattered aross the pages. In these ways, I think it is similar to Linqdvist's work. Which is not to say that it is a better story, or better written; Somtow's style can sometimes be difficult and off-putting. But if you're a vampire fan, it's worth a read. I also happen to think it would make a hell of a movie, although (again, like Lindqvist's work) some parts of it are unfilmable. From a legal perspective, anyway, unless the director would like to be arrested. I can also say that the story never moved me nearly as powerfully as LTROI did. But once I realized that both of the stories took place in almost the identical time frame, it seemed natural to ask: what if? Boy vampire meets girl vampire, just as one is at the height of his celebrity and the other is soon to flee to Los Alamos. The events of Vampire Junction start just after Timmy and Abby's meeting and night together in Chicago, and run parallel to my own story, up to the climax in Junction. Of course we all knew that they wouldn't wind up together - each story already had its own path, and the challenge was to mesh them together yet allow each to reach its own, already written, conclusion. But I wondered how such an encounter would develop, and what such a relationship would do to Abby emotionally just before she meets the one person who really is the fulfillment of her hopes and wishes. I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.


End file.
